


There's No Regulation Against Jacking Off To Hot Teammates

by Nitrobot



Category: Transformers: Robots in Disguise (2015)
Genre: Dirty Thoughts, F/M, Fantasizing, Masturbation, Sexual Frustration, Sideswipe no swiping (his dick)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-14
Updated: 2016-02-14
Packaged: 2018-05-20 07:59:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5997900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nitrobot/pseuds/Nitrobot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Well, can't argue with that.</p><p>In which Strongarm becomes the universal cure for erectile dysfunction (or as Sideswipe calls it, "Primus being a damn jerk to me").<br/>EDIT: I've just realised I uploaded this on Valentine's Day. How romantic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	There's No Regulation Against Jacking Off To Hot Teammates

"Come on... come on-FRAG!" Sideswipe hissed as his helm collapsed back onto his damp berth with a hand lazily wiping at the coolant trickling down his crest and over his optics. In his other hand, his spike lay stubbornly limp despite his very through, bordering on rough, rubbing along its whole length. His spark was only hammering from the effort of trying to get himself going, and the only fluids escaping him were his entire coolant supply. The first time in what felt like vorns since he'd been given a break he could make use of, and his damn cord wouldn't even co-operate. 

His last overload had been on an entirely different planet, over a Playmech datapad he'd left behind under his berth (and hopefully still undiscovered by his nosy sire), yet decacyles of frustration building on top of itself wasn't enough to get his cord up. He could feel the urge churning in his tanks, aching to spurt out and drench anything that even remotely looked like a valve, yet it couldn't get past a burning barrier in the base of his spike. Be it some kind of cursed Decepticon technology, his own body betraying him or the fact Earth just didn't like him, Sideswipe couldn't even go frag himself (as his brothers so often liked to suggest).

"Frag's sake, Primus, you can't even give me this? After all I did for the ghost of your poster boy of the millennia-" Sideswipe stopped himself with another groan. Slandering Optimus Prime wouldn't get him any closer to the overload he needed.

_'Just chill, Sides... deep breaths. You're not the first mech who couldn't get himself hard in the middle of a warzone..."_

He brought both hands together, stretching and clenching the digits on each one. Usually he just needed to stroke away and whatever he needed to get off would float up in his processor, but now his imagination was a blank slate. He could remember the sweeping curves of frames on screens he'd stared at for breems, plump painted lips, slick naked protoform and chestplates far too big for any normal spinal strut to support. He even remembered previous and precious few flings, though they were fuzzy under a veil of high grade and the darkness of a foreign berthroom. But they didn't stir the expected rush of arousal in his loins; at most they made him blush, adding to the stifling heat in his modest sealed quarters. His need sat stagnant in his spike, confined to his aching tanks until they would decide to inevitably burst open.

Sideswipe's vocaliser was weary with attempted moans and persistent, impatient growls. By most young mechs standards he'd been lucky, snaring even just one night with the femmes he'd somehow managed to charm out of their armour. His sire and twin could have done it in recharge, from how they liked to brag, but their lives were not his. He had his own achievements to be proud of, no matter how... perverse. 

Yet ever since he'd been lumped with the Autobots and stranded on Earth, any life outside of kicking 'Con aft was put firmly on hold. The only femme he'd had any close contact with since his departure was...

Right outside his room, talking long-range blaster aiming strategies with Bumblebee. Not exactly material worthy of Blaster's After Dark Eroticasts, but the distant enthusiasm in her muffled voice at least gave him something to work with. Truth be told, he'd been far too terrified of Strongarm to even think of doing anything with her defined curves and the thick protoform and toned muscles that her armour must have hidden away, but... well, he was thinking of it now. And as evidenced from the nudge of pleasure breaching past the shield in his spike, he _liked_ it. 

Shuttering his optics tight, Sideswipe tuned his audios closer on Strongarm's voice while filtering out Bumblebee's. At the same time he let a different hand drift down his abdomen, wrapping loosely around his neglected spike and palming the heat simmering in the base.

Now his processor worked on conjuring all sorts of images and manufactured moments, with dark grey protoform being the focus. Strongarm appeared in very un-Strongarm like poses, bulky armour reduced to thin plates over her most teasing areas or completely disregarded altogether as she slowly pulled it off. Those thick blue lips would mouth moans at him before they would vibrate past her vocaliser, press against his greedy mouth and trail further down to his neck cables, heaving chest, then down where his spike rose up as a throbbing monolith-

Wow, it actually worked. Transfluid eagerly flooded his cord, making it bulge up between his fingets and legs, and almost fall back down from the weight of his arousal unbalancing the decently sized length. He was no Prime or Triple-Changer down there, but it was big enough to get both his hands around and that was all he cared about (besides, at least he wasn't a Seeker with their infamously small cords).

He shook himself free of the sudden ego rush. Erection finally taken care of, though now the fiery sensation of his entire libido was now dribbling a clear trail down his bright red ribs. And the trickles only increased the more Strongarm flashed in his optics and continued her lecture on whatever he wasn't really focusing on. All he could hear was the rough certainty that she always spoke with, and that he'd never noticed as so damn attractive until now.  
Once he had a fleeting thought of the hot fluid starting to coat his digits also covering her chestplates, there was no going back.

"Mmmm... Strongarm... oh, frag, that's hot..."  
Sideswipe could see the faint outline of her optics floating in front of him, almost feel her weight pressing down on him and the swell of her thighs squeezing his hips in a firm straddle. His hands became so wet with his own desire he could easily imagine a valve spasming around him, contracting and moulding around his ribbed edges as they slipped beneath his digits. Her bare chestplates, much bigger out of their armour, almost smothered his face as he imagined pulling her down, tasting her mouth in between breathless moans and washing away every insult and doubt she had left to throw at him. His glossa lapped at thin air, but it was air so warm and humid with his own fluids that the illusion was perfect for him. 

Trapped in the bliss of his fantasy, Sideswipe's overload finally hit him like a gestalt fist to the faceplate when his processor let slip an image of Strongarm having her own climax on top of him. He imagined she wouldn't be subtle, screaming her spark out through a grin too wide for her face, but luckily he remembered he was in the middle of a populated scrapyard only halfway through an almost endless moan.

"Oh... OH, STRONGARM-!" He choked on the rest of it, forcing it back into his vocaliser and trying to replace it with fitting curses through walls of denta as his spike became a bright red geyser. Thick splurts rained down on his abs and hands, others completely ruined his berth surface. Even when there was nothing left to shoot out, his spike was still exploding with pleasure and scrambling every nearby node, and his spark was ready to swell out of its chamber. 

' _Totally worth the wait...'_ Sideswipe had to wait until his vents stopped trying to use up the entire planet's oxygen supply before he could give himself an exhausted glossa-lolling grin. Even naked and sticky, he would have happily slept until morning if not for an ironic interruption.

"Sideswipe?"

He'd forgotten to tune Strongarm's voice back to normal levels, so he practically lept out of his skin from hearing her voice literally just behind his carefully locked door (well, not so much locked as barricaded by a hoard of boxes) and might have leaked fluid if he had any left to spare. 

"Uh...b-be there in a klick!" He tried to hide the damning hoarseness of his voice in an unconvincing cough as he scavenged for his armour in his woefully messy room. His chest plating didn't match his legs, but at least it covered the embarassing patch of red residue dried onto his midsection. Now as decent as possible considering circumstances, he shoved his barricade aside and wrenched the door open before remembering the amount of evidence still on his berth a nanoklick later. With that, he swiftly pulled it closed again just enough so that his half-hidden frame would hide whatever lay behind him. 

"Can I, uh... can I help you?" he asked a very cautious looking Strongarm. It was a struggle to keep his gaze on her optics with all the musings he'd just had about her lips.

"Uh, well, I thought I heard you calling for me..." she said, and Sideswipe felt all lingering lust overrided by the urge to slap himself with his usual self-service hand.

"Right... right!" He looked everywhere except Strongarm as excuses ran like wild electrequus through his barren mind, and his slap-elected hand ran itself over his crest. "Uh, yeah, I saw a... I _thought_ I saw a Scraplet nearby. Turns out it was just an angry toaster." ' _Nice one, Sides.'_

Strongarm apparently didn't share the praise from how her eyeridge sharply raised. "An angry toaster?" she repeated. 

"You'd be surprised how many innocent lives they claim each year, both bot and human," he said defensively. The seriousness of his expression must have looked so out of place that Strongarm couldn't help a tiny hint of laughter making itself known.

"If you say so... anyway, while I'm here, Bumblebee has us both assigned on morning patrol duty tomorrow, so get an early night. And if you're not up by sunrise, I'll drag you behind me the whole time." She creased her eyeridges now and jabbed a digit at him, before taking her leave and giving Sideswipe the most perfect opportunity to shamelessly ogle her buxom aft.

"Baby, you can do whatever you want to me..." he muttered behind a grin that would become very common whenever he thought of her from then on.


End file.
